Seven
by Fruipit
Summary: Everyone is susceptible to sin; our heroes are no exception. Seven Deadly Sins themed one-shots. Currently only ATLA-centric, but might be expanded. Chapter 5: Pride (or, Aang loves his little airbender). Hurt/comfort/Family
1. Wrath I

_a soft answer turneth away wrath_  
><em>—proverbs 15:1<em>

* * *

><p>You stalk through the palace, red walls and floors reminding you only of blood, of red-raw burns and thick scars. The ones that criss-cross your sister; the one that stands so prominent on your face.<p>

It's fitting, though, that you would see only that; you've come from the throne room, eyebrow(s) drawn thick over your eyes. It's only when you're certain you're alone that you pause and, with a growl, send a flaming fist through a wooden wall. A thread from a tapestry catches alight, but you don't have it in you to stop it, to snuff it out.

That's what the _minister_ wanted with your sister.

She's just a thread now, and a loose one at that. There's a little fire left in her, and honestly, that's all you need. She's still your baby sister, no matter what.

So when the minister who made such a _bold_ suggestion approaches you, his hands clasped placidly in front of him, it takes every ounce of your strength not to put your fist through his head, too.

He bows and snivels, tries to explain his words and _I'm only saying what everyone is thinking_ and _It's my duty as your advisor, Sire_, and you just want to rip out his tongue.

You cut him off instead with a harsh cry and a well-placed blow. You hiss at him to just _leave_ as he grabs at his nose, eyes widening at the blood he pulls away. He understands then that _she_ is off limits, and the burning in your eyes can't lie; you will _kill_ him if he dare suggests anything to do with Azula again.

Without any further comment, he bows out of the room. You see his eyes flicker to the smouldering hole in wall before you're finally left alone.

You can't help sinking to the ground, regretting your rash actions. Your hands come up to cradle your head, but you're not given long to ponder on your own. A slim pair of cool hands cup your cheeks, and you open your eyes—somewhat surprised when you realised they were shut—and look into the eyes of your wife. She doesn't smile often, but the small, encouraging curl of her lips give you the strength—the courage—to stand up. She lets you walk the red halls alone, though you don't yearn for her presence. Your mind is too full of musings and questions.

When you reach your destination, the room is dark, your sister asleep. You content yourself with sitting next to her, brushing hair from her face.

She doesn't flinch anymore when you press a kiss to her temple; she doesn't burn the curtains, burn herself anymore. It makes everything worth it in the end; even the backlash from striking your own minister can't dampen the small victory. Azula doesn't know, but she doesn't have to, either. She just needs to understand that no one is ever going to betray her again.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Hi all, Fruipy here! This is a series I've been slowly updating on Avatar Wiki since... the end of March, and I thought, why not post it here? I have a few other chapters already written, and this is basically going to feature whoever the heck you want. The characters and categories in the summary will change with each update, but 'Gaang' will always be in there (and probably friendship. idk yet). Currently, this series features Zuko (this chapter), Toph, Sokka, Suki, and Smellerbee-centric stories, but seriously, if you want something, let me know. And let me know what 'sin' they are, too ^^" I'm open to suggestions. Also, may not be released in that order.<em>

_Anywhoodles, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy. If you *do* want to see something, be sure to tell me :) I'm always open to suggestions, and chatting with other people ^^"_


	2. Sloth I

_aziness of the heart/spirit; failure to embrace spirituality_  
><em>—acedia<em>

* * *

><p>You've never really believed in all that spiritual mumbo jumbo. Your sister essentially <em>breathes<em> the stuff, but then again, she kind of has to. You don't. You don't have _time_ to play in the snow like she does. She practises her skills for fun. You have to practise to survive. You can't slack off with anything, because it won't just mean your death; it'll mean hers, and everyone else's.

But there comes a time and you have to choose. Because sometimes, providing food and warmth isn't enough. Trekking out to the ice-shelves to hunt for meat is all well and good, but when the men leave, you notice something strange happening.

Everyone starts dying.

You think it's your fault. You blame yourself

-_you aren't strong enough, good enough, skilled enough_-

but it doesn't take long for you to grow. It doesn't take long for you to realise.

You turn fourteen in the spring, only a few months after your father leaves. You feel like a man (even when your sister laughs at your voice), and you take the time during your hunts to think. You think about life and death (because what else is there to think about?), and you realise what was missing.

It's _not_ your fault. It's not. It can't be, when they're dying because they lack the one thing that you can't give them.

They have no more hope.

Perhaps that's why Gran-Gran has lasted as long as she had, though. Katara brings hope, in her smile and laugh. In the way she always has a kind word or a fun game. In her waterbending.

You hate how much you hate it.

You should be happy for her, but it's hard when you're working so hard and achieving so little. So when she saves _him_, that boy in the iceberg, you are secretly happy. Now _she_ has more work, because she's the one who saved him.

You didn't realise that he would be even better at the 'hope' thing than she.

You didn't realise he was the Avatar.

You didn't realise a lot of things.

You're almost glad when Gran-Gran forces you out of the tribe to save him. And yes, well, it was mostly Katara, but you were there for moral support...

... and that's who you stayed. The guy with a boomerang, and the warrior's wolf tail. You just sort of stagnate as Katara and the boy, Aang, only get better. But you're a good big brother, and you complain about everything but that because you'll only damper their spirits; in a war such as this, standing on knife edges, it is better that you try and remain positive. It's already hard for you. Why would you make it harder for them?

But, you arrive, eventually, at the destination. You're still not sure if the journey was worth it, but you think back to the good moments. Perhaps it was, as a certain red-haired warrior enters your mind.

You think of her, after you first see the white-haired girl. There's a difference, see, and you're not sure what to think. Because, you _like_ Suki. Of course, she made you feel incredibly emasculated, but she also helped you to be better. To be stronger.

And that was another good thing. Perhaps you didn't 'just stagnate'. Perhaps you grew a little, even if it wasn't in the skills you had hoped. Perhaps that's why it's so easy to talk to the Princess (easy being entirely relative, of course). And, for the first time in years, you have fun. You go flying on Appa, and show her the scar on your thumb (not mentioning the fish hooks). In turn, she shows you how to tie a Spirit knot (which is far superior to the other knots you've learned) and she takes you to the Spirit Oasis.

After the pain of her death lessened, it filled you with some sort of pride to say your first time was with a gorgeous woman who saved the world, and became a spirit.

After that, you had time for Spirits. You realised why you never believed in them, and of course, Yue managed to show you otherwise.

Abandoned by the world, as you lived out your (probably short) life in the Southern Water Tribe, it was easy to blame the spirits. After all, there couldn't be any if they just let the world die like this. There couldn't be a higher power watching over, or else his looking glass was faulty. But, Yue made you realise that it wasn't really about that at all.

She made you realise why the spirits did nothing.

It wasn't because they were lazy, or didn't care. It wasn't because they thought humanity should wither away like a flower far beyond its prime, nor that they _didn't_ have the power to help.

They did nothing because they knew that people could be better. That there were people who were just as thoughtful and selfless to help save the world.

They knew that there were some people who were destined to become spirits in their own way.

Some people already were.


	3. Lust I

_a carnal desire; psychological force producing intense want_  
><em>—luxuria<em>

* * *

><p>Sometimes, you wonder why the blind see better than everyone else. You wonder why it has to be <em>you<em> to see everything.

It never used to be painful, see. It used to be easy and smooth, like flower petals brushing your face as they danced in the breeze. It used to be comforting, warm like the sun accompanied by the smell of wet earth. But then it turned harsh, the feeling of smoke in your nose and ash in your mouth.

Then, it turned painful.

Because it hurts. It hurts to see everyone; not because they don't meet your expectations. On the contrary, it hurts because they _surpass_ them. And you see the good within people and how they've touched you, and you wonder if you've left the same mark on them. You lift your hand to your chest, perhaps in the attempts to poke your heart and ask it, 'what gives?', but it falls when he approaches.

Everything falls when _they_ approach.

He doesn't understand why you don't like her, and to tell him is to announce a death wish. You shrug it off, but he pushes the issue. You're his best friend (and the title hurts just as much as explicit rejection), and he wants—nay, _needs_—you to get along with her. He wants you in his family, but he doesn't realise that it is a family made for two. There is no room for you. But you try. You try because you want him to be happy, even at your own expense. He's given you so much, so you might as well repay him with your silence.

So, you talk to her, get to know her. You can see why he loves her; she's smart, and brave, and noble—three things that you aren't. But as you get to know her, you also realise that it doesn't matter who she is, or what kind of person, because you know that you will always understand him better. You know because he once told you a story he had never told anyone else. You know, because he is always there to listen.

You know, because the only option for you is to give your heart, fully and completely. You have only one other thing to rely on, and that is the earth beneath your feet. _She_ is broken, split between his world and hers; you never wanted your world. Let them keep it, so long as he shares a piece of his.

And he does share, and you think it's enough, but it isn't. You want it to be, with all your heart, but you know you're encroaching and he's just too nice to say it. You hear them fight sometimes, and you know it's about you. They never bring it up, but it doesn't matter because you know how they feel. He wants his best friend, and she wants her boyfriend.

In some ways, leaving will make it easier. You won't have that constant ache in your heart; the tight feeling that occurs when he squeezes it just a little too tight. The constant pressure of his presence will be alleviated, and you will be able to breath again.

And so, you leave. You pack your bags, though as much as you want, you can't vanish. You wait to say goodbye, and can't help the anger that burbles in your gut as her heartbeat increases. She is happy that you're going—do they know how much you don't want to? Does _he_?

Because, you had never had a home. You had a house, true, but not a home; with the help of another, you had to make it. It just wasn't supposed to be with him. It was incomplete, of course, because you only had half of what was needed, but you stayed there anyway in the hopes he would build the rest with you.

Oh, what vain hopes.

Because if home is where the heart is, you'll never find a home again. You know it. So, you refuse to try, instead only accepting the 'comfortable', and the 'needed'; never the 'wanted'.

You refuse to ask, 'what if it's both?'

You break your earlier promise. Your earlier self-affirmation. You disappear, vanish into the night. You hear rumours of him that only cause you to tunnel further and wonder, curled up in your precious earth, whether he thinks about you as much as you think about him. You keep an ear to the wind as it carries whispers of him around the world. You are grown now, and you have grown out of your puppy love (although you can't remember when) and your crush (but it was always so much more than that, wasn't it?). You are grown, and you are alone, and you kid yourself when you say that it's okay. That you're okay. Your teen years were kind to you, and you repay the universe by being kind to it.

So you travel to small towns in the Earth Kingdom, to try and help. You build structures to be schools and homes, and it doesn't escape you that you can create them for other people, but are unable to do so for yourself. You are there for a week, a day, a month. You are too good at disappearing, for an earthbender. Not good enough, for someone who wishes to escape their past.

Not when you stupidly open your door to history and let it step across the threshold.

Because, he _was_ listening for you. He _was_ keeping an eye out. And you know that even after all these years, he's still the most loyal, funniest, smartest boy you've ever met. And he's still killing you without meaning to.

You don't ask about Suki, and he doesn't mention her. He takes you to a bar, just like he used to, and you get absolutely smashed without meaning to because your best friend is back and you can't believe you ever had the strength to leave him. The years have left you weak to the effects of alcohol, you discover, as he has to half-drag, half-carry you home. The night is still young, and you are busting with energy. You keep talking, although most of it is just word-vomit.

As soon as you get inside, you push him against the wall. Your vision is blurry; you can only see where he is, and nothing else. You realise, somewhere at the back of your mind, that you probably look terrible, and you're swaying something fierce, but that doesn't matter because there's a smile on your face and a fire in your belly.

You still don't know what happened to Suki, but that isn't really important either. You know you shouldn't be kissing him—not here; not like this—but he doesn't stop you. He knows you're pissed, but you don't give him a chance to break away from you as you press your body up against his. You didn't have this advantage three years ago, but now you do, and you won't waste the chance.

You fall into the sheets, lying on top of him. His hands work their way under your shirt, the heat only a little colder than the one that burns in your gut.

You wake up the next day with badgermoles tunnelling in your head, the stench of sex on your skin, and shame in your heart.

You don't wait for him to wake up before you escape.


	4. Envy I

_insatiable desire; to covet an entity of another_  
><em>—invidia<em>

* * *

><p>You look at all the other girls. You can see them, from the corner of your eye, as they prance about in silly (beautiful) green dresses with ugly (gorgeous) golden tiaras, talking about stupid (fun) things. You don't have time to waste glaring at them, though, as you're called back inside; Father needs you to cook dinner. Your mother is sick—she can't do it—and Father is a man.<p>

Men don't cook.

You wonder what men _do_ do, as it doesn't seem like much. He spends his days drinking some foul golden liquid; the smell permeates through the entire house, and you sometimes sit on the roof just to get away from it all. The first time you found it, you emptied it down the sink; what purpose was there for this vile drink? He spends his money on it and you watch your mother become more and more ill; could that money help her? He says it can't, and what choice do you have but to believe him? Instead, you sit with her. Laughter is the best medicine, and so you try to cheer her up. She sleeps with you in your bed while your father takes the master room (when he's not passed out in the not-really-family room).

When he found the empty bottle, at least he had the courtesy to wait until your mother was asleep before he beat you.

Mother is sick. You don't want to wake her.

You learned your lesson, but you still have a scar (of the wedding ring as it sliced through your arm), and more than a few problems. He asks the spirits why he couldn't have had a son; why did they have to punish him like this? You eavesdrop as he lists the hardships you have placed on him. He has to find someone who will marry you, a task that takes time and effort. Then there's the matter of your dowry.

You wonder if other girls are like you. You wonder if they are treated like you.

Your mother succumbs within weeks, the illness burying itself deep within her bones as it forces you to bury her. You cry at the funeral; wet tears turning your face splotchy as you try in vain to hold them back. The moment of silence is broken by your stifled sobs.

He beats you again when you get home.

The other villagers know. You know they know as they look at you with pitying eyes. Sometimes Mianbao gives you a little cupcake from the bakery and tells you to gobble it up fast. You smile a small smile, and give a bow in thanks. She pats your head and ushers you off, but you still catch the frown as you turn away.

Walking past the dojo, you notice the door has been left ajar. The sun tells you that you don't have much time, but you still can't resist the urge to sneak a little closer. You peer through the door, your heart in your chest as you see about three dozen girls, ranging from your age all the way up to adulthood. They are frowning in concentration, and you stand bewitched as the gracefulness of their movements captivates you.

They don't notice you duck inside for a moment and take one of the golden fans just lying around the area.

You take it home and keep it secret as best you can. Every night you sit on the roof and allow the metal to catch the light of the moon. Every day, you hide it in your pillow before you head off to the town hall to learn sums and words.

You are careless one day; your father isn't quite drunk enough to remain in one spot, and he surprises you by following you to the roof. You already have the fan out when he announces his presence; you never realised how big your house is until he accidentally knocks you off the roof as he tries to wrestle the golden instrument from you. You land on the garden overgrown with hydrangea and campanula; he's never bothered with it, and the bushy plants break your fall. You come out of it with a sprained wrist and a broken leg.

It is three days after your seventh birthday (five months since the unfortunate 'accident' on the roof) when a stranger comes to the door. The sun hasn't yet risen, and so you are carrying one of the last candles you have left. Your father is passed out on the floor, and you almost step on him as you rush to stop the knocking. Pulling the heavy wood open, you stop and stare as the person steps through the threshold. She notices your father and places a finger over her lips, beckoning you close to whisper in your ear. She says your name with such care and tenderness that you wonder if that's how it _should_ sound, or she's just gotten the pronunciation wrong.

The birds are welcoming the day when you step into the bright morning sun, a small bundle of clothes at your side and the woman holding your hand.

By the time your father comes to collect you, he can't even recognise you amidst the other green-dress-golden-tiara wearing girls.


	5. Pride I

_excessive self-esteem of oneself or those to whom one is close_  
><em>—superbia<em>

* * *

><p>You dance around the empty halls, filling them with light and laughter. Your son just looks at you, ever-serious and ever-poignant. When he plays with the air, it's almost as though he's bored; you still remember the look of complete shock when he woke himself up with a sneeze, before promptly descending into wails.<p>

He makes little spires of air now, watching the swirls with a disaffected curiosity. While your heart absolutely swells and a delightful shiver runs up your spine, he just seems so... bored with it all.

He doesn't realise yet just how special he is, but you do. You've started training him already, under the disguise of games and fun. You take him to the old wind tunnels, or the mountainside chimes that even the youngest airbender can play with. Tenzin loved playing with the one in the Northern Air Temple; now you're here in your old home, still too empty but slowly filling with life, he can't wait to see what this one has to offer.

You spend the day touring the temple; you enter the rooms once forbidden to you, your son too young to understand such a thing. You trust your wife to entertain herself for the day; Kya has waterbending lessons, and Uncle Sokka has whittled a softwood boomerang for young Bumi, who is determined to master the art.

Tenzin has too much fun. He's exhausted by the evening, the excitement getting to him. You forget how young he is sometimes, having only entered the world six short years prior. He keeps yawning but he's too engrossed in what he's doing—you've recently passed on your set of marbles, and he enjoys coming up with new things to use them for.

You arrive at the main hall, Katara waiting with dinner. Kya and Bumi are running around, playing a game of some kind. They almost knock over Tenzin, still absorbed in what he's doing—you chide them softly, but they just ignore you. Even as you frown, Katara calls your attention, and everyone sits down to eat.

You begin to tell your wife of Tenzin's progress. Even as you remember his achievements, you feel a giddy smile come to your face. Katara tells you that Kya perfected the water whip the other day, and Bumi can get his boomerang to come back now. You offer your other children a smile; Bumi's eyes light up exponentially at the sight, and though you give the same playful grin to your daughter, Kya ignores you completely. You can't imagine why you've been given such a cold reception.

Bumi asks you if he can show you his boomerang skills, and you laugh, ruffling his hair. Tomorrow, buddy, you say, because it's getting late and you won't be able to see it anyway.

It's not long until bedtime, and per usual, you take your time tucking Tenzin in. He still enjoys bedtime stories, and you still enjoy sharing them. It's only a short one tonight—Tenzin is too tired, and you know you haven't told him about the fruit-tarts yet.

Twenty minutes later, you sneak out of his room, shutting the door carefully behind you. You peek into Kya's room, but she has her back to the door; you don't really want to wake her up. Bumi is sitting in his bed, the candle still lit. He's been waiting for you, it seems, but this time as you smile, he doesn't mimic the action. He's got his boomerang in his hand, carefully tracing the patterns Uncle Sokka engraved on one side.

Come on, you tell him. It's time for bed. He looks at you, and you think that his eyes are just like Tenzin's; though brown, there's the same hidden intelligence, same wide-eyed naïvety.

Dad, he says, and you wonder when his voice got deeper—he's not hit puberty yet, you don't think, but he must be getting close. How old was he when Tenzin was born? He calls your name again, quieter.

Don't I make you happy? he wonders, in a voice so tiny it can barely push through the quiet of the night. Me and Kya don't make you happy?

You cock your head, nothing in there but confusion. Why wouldn't he make you happy? For what reason would you be _unhappy_ with them. You ask him what he means, and he suddenly seems so much younger. He's only ten, you remember, but it doesn't feel like it at that moment.

You don't smile at us the way you smile at Tenzin, he continues, and for the first time in so many years, you think you're going to see your first son cry again. Ten gets these smiles that have... more... We just get these smiles.

He struggles to explain exactly what he's thinking—he always has. Despite the age difference, it really is easier talking to Tenzin. He doesn't speak unless he has something to say, and he's already good at getting his point.

But... maybe that's it. You know what Bumi's trying to say because you know that your youngest son would probably be able to say it. You know what he's trying to say because it's really not hard to figure out.

You don't know how to respond to him without hurting him even more.

* * *

><p><em>Note: Before you complain about the formatting, go and read <em>Pelican Song_, by Mary-Beth Hughes. I'm trying out slightly new ways of formatting my story based on short stories I've read. This way—the lack of speech marks—will appear again._


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